Sweet
by Ash Light
Summary: Hermione's concern for the people of Ghana is very nice, Ron thinks. But why does it have to make him act so......wierd?


**Disclaimer**: As usual, none of the characters, settings, terms or basic Harry Potter-ness is mine. It belongs to the great J.K. Rowling. The only thing I own is an old computer, a puppy that keeps eating jay-cloths, and Bob the invisible flying squirrel.

Ahem.

Another Harry Potter fic. Another lovely Ron/Hermione fic. Another one where Ron ends up putting his feet in his mouth, and another one where people fall off the chairs.

Happens a lot when I'm in charge, doesn't it?

And Eliniel, I _promise_ I'll write an angsty-Malfoy-fic. Soon. When I feel depressed.

Anyone who has some good angsty-fics for inspiration, send 'em myway!

0000

"Do you know how high the infant mortality rate in Ghana is?"

Ron looked up. Trust Hermione to think up such a nice, cheery subject as this.

So, obviously, he chose his normal, Ron Weasley response.

"Huh?"

_So_ eloquent. _So _suave. _So _debonair and dashing.

Gilderoy Lockhart would be proud.

Yes. Ahem.

"The infant mortality rate in Ghana!" Hermione repeated, looking frazzled, "Colin Creevey's doing it for Muggle Studies, he has to do a homework that a typical Muggle would do, he chose Geography, and he has to study country profiles and I decided to help him, and the infant mortality rate in Ghana is 51.43 deaths out of 1,000 live births!"

Ron found himself worrying that if Hermione didn't take a breath, she'd spontaneously combust.

"That's…..interesting, Hermione," He forced out, "But I don't see what it has to do with us."

Hermione's hair seemed to expand by two feet in diameter at this comment.

"Ron, it's _awful_!" She wailed, "That's around fifty one out of every thousand babies that die! And when you compare it to the United Kingdom, which has an infant mortality rate of 5.16 deaths out of 1,000 live births, it's simply _terrifying_!"

Ron was frightened. Really frightened. He'd just come down to the Common Room to do his Potions homework, and suddenly she was shrieking at him about dead babies. The only other time he'd seen her talking as passionately as this about any other subject was when she went on about spew.

Ahem. S.P.E.W.

He didn't know which one he disliked more.

"And that's not it! In Nigeria the infant mortality rate is 98.80 deaths per 1,000 live births! And in Afghanistan it's _163.07 deaths per1,000 live births_! It's horrifying! Someone's got to do something about it!"

She was getting into the second and third stages of Hermione-Stress, pacing around the room, and clutching at her hair (which Ron could have _sworn_ had grown in the last five seconds).

"With the wizarding communities numerous Healers, I'm _sure_ we could do something about it….that's what I should have told McGonagall! I should have told her I wanted to become a Healer! I've got to go back and tell her right now……why are you smiling?"

Ron noticed, to his absolute horror that he was smiling. And not just smiling. Oh no.

He was beaming. Beaming in the way that he'd seen Ginny beam at Harry, in her first year.

_Nonononnonononoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_.

"Ron, you're smiling," Hermione said accusingly, "Why are you smiling?"

Ron gulped. Ah well, he thought. Time to bite the bullet and get it over with.

"I'm smiling because your getting so concerned over all these people," He said, talking more to his shoes than Hermione, "People who don't even know you exist. And yet you're getting so worried for them. It's sweet, really."

Oh bloody _no_.

He hadn't meant for that last bit to come out. He hadn't really. He'd just sort of…..let it slip.

And now she'd think he fancied her.

Which he didn't.

Not by any means.

To his surprise, when he looked up, Hermione wasn't there.

At least, she _was_ there.

Just not where she had been a moment ago.

She'd fallen off her chair.

"Are you ok?" He asked, as she got up.

"Oh yeah," Hermione mumbled, her face going a bright red, "Fine. Slip of the foot. What did you say?"

Ron fixed her with an innocent stare, "Nothing. Slip of the tongue."

And with that, he carried on with his Potions homework.

Any 'sweet' feelings he had from now on were going to be strictly restricted to Honeydukes.


End file.
